


A Timeless Blight

by ConVito



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2020-09-30 12:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20446820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConVito/pseuds/ConVito
Summary: A modern-day retelling of the story of Dragon Age: Origins, based on the "dwarf commoner" origin story.





	1. I Suppose That's One Way To Quit Your Job

It’s an experience one can scarcely describe, losing your livelihood and being recruited to an army of zombie killers in one day. But Talia had led a rather colorful life in the undercity of Orzammar up until this point, so this was more akin to a particularly rowdy weekend than a life altering cataclysm. So far, anyway.

Existing entirely underground, the dwarven kingdom of Orzammar was completely separate from the cities of the surface in more than just proximity. It boasted its own system of government, and for efficiency’s sake, its own brand of organized crime. Talia, being previously employed by a rather influential branch of said crime people, had yet to decide if it was worth being exiled from such a world.

“Are you feeling any regrets, my friend?”

Her consciousness was thrust back into reality as her companion spoke up. She looked over to the driver’s seat, where the human known as Duncan sat. He kept his eyes on the road, but Talia noticed the car’s speed slightly lower after he spoke. She paused briefly, trying to decide the proper response.

“Depends on the context,” she eventually decided on, “do you mean leaving my glamorous life of petty crime or making a lifetime commitment to monster hunters on a whim?”

“I see you’re much more talkative since we reached the surface,” Duncan replied with an audible grin.

“Cause there’s definitely a regret,” Talia decided to continue for some reason, “but I haven’t decided which one.”

“At least your sense of humor appears intact,” Duncan said, with just a touch less whimsy.

“Sorry,” Talia sheepishly answered, “I’m just… scared. And if I keep talking, I don’t have to think about it.”

Duncan finally looked over as they reached a stop sign. His face was a mix of concern and understanding. Or maybe disappointment. Talia admittedly knew nothing of reading faces, but she was used to that one.

“You aren’t the first, and surely won’t be the last in that regard,” Duncan said softly, “the Grey Wardens draw more than simply awe and reverence to their reputation.”

“What do you mean?”

“No doubt you’ve heard tales of Wardens disappearing or going mad and fleeing into the hills,” Duncan spoke in a lowered voice, as if imparting a well-kept secret, “although I imagine they get lost among the legends.”

“I’ve spent my entire life literally living under rocks,” Talia dryly answered, “let’s assume I haven’t.”

“Fair enough,” Duncan said with a chuckle, then adopted a noticeably more grave tone “I suppose it’s not a subject often shared in pleasant conversation. Suffice it to say, being a Grey Warden is among the most hazardous of occupations.”

“Yeah, I figured that much when you told me I’ll probably die young,” Talia said, deciding to ignore the fact that Duncan never explained what he meant, “not the best sales pitch.”

“And yet,” Duncan said warmly and knowingly, “you did not refuse my offer.”

“I... had nowhere else to go.”

“Indeed, I think you will find that motivation to be not so uncommon among your new comrades.”

The ride continued in an uneasy silence as Talia considered this cheery notion.

Before long, the scenery changed from a green countryside to a decidedly more beige landscape of sand and dust. The dull colors oddly felt more familiar to Talia than the previous environments. Not that she had much time to enjoy the comforting color of “eh,” as a giant assortment of dilapidated structures soon obstructed her view. Looking closer, she noticed that there were a large number of people, soldiers by the look of them, moving about the ruins.

Duncan pulled the car smoothly into an empty area just inside the perimeter, then exited, beckoning Talia to follow.

“Welcome,” he said, “to Ostagar.”


	2. The Peanut Gallery Begins

Talia had seen ruins like these before. Growing up in the slums of Orzammar, abandoned buildings were less of a curiosity and more of a Friday evening with the family.

Although they were clearly different than those she was used to (‘how the hell do they stay upright without a ceiling to keep them in place?’ she thought), Talia recognized them as old office buildings. Why there were soldiers mincing about such a place was beyond her. Maybe they ran out of toner.

“What’s going on?” she asked Duncan as they made their way through the makeshift camp.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to, as one says, ‘hit the ground running’ with regards to your Grey Warden training,” Duncan said, “we arrive on the eve of battle.”

“That’s just like you to let a little skirmish spoil the mood,” came a voice from just up ahead. Talia looked forward to see an impressive looking human male, decked out in what could only be described as “boot camp chic.”

“Your highness,” Duncan said, nearly stumbling uncharacteristically over his words, “I hadn’t heard of your arrival.”

“I was informed of yours, however,” said the fabulous man, “which brought me here. I wanted to greet you and your new recruit in person while I had the time.”

“We are honored, my king,” Duncan answered reverently, then turned to Talia, “Talia Brosca, this is King Cailan Theirin, ruler of Ferelden.”

“And party favor, it seems,” Cailan added dryly, “I’ve been asked to meet with the Circle of Mages, the Chantry, and our favorite general as well.”

“Now, your highness,” Duncan apparently had no trouble taking a parental tone in the presence of royalty, “I’m sure Loghain only wishes to be certain of the battle plan for the sake of his soldiers.”

“Indeed,” Cailan said with a dramatic sigh, then directed his words toward Talia, “it’s times like this I envy your people, my dwarven friend. Though technically part of Ferelden, Orzammar possesses the uncanny ability to deal with its own problems with far more aptitude than those of us on the surface.”

Talia could only stare, speechless.

“But that’s enough bantering for one day,” he continued, looking down at his buzzing phone, “several missed calls and more missed voicemails seem to indicate I’m a bit behind schedule. Wonderful seeing you again, Duncan. And best of luck to you, Miss Brosca.”

And with that, the king did a lazy about-face and strode away, kevlar glistening in the sun. Talia’s blank stare extended its stay.

“His Highness is of a unique sort,” Duncan warmly broke the cold silence, “but he’s a good man at heart.”

“Honestly,” said Talia, “it’s still preferable to the king back home I only knew through propaganda commercials.”

“I think you’ll find things on the surface will take some time to get accustomed to,” said Duncan, “in fact, I know exactly where you should start.”

Talia’s tired apprehension gave way to curiosity as she gave Duncan an attentive blink. Duncan, meanwhile, had produced a phone from within his coat. Standing silently while waiting for an answer, his brow crinkled slightly.

“It seems he is already engaged in other matters,” he said, returning the phone to its home, “well, I suppose this will be a good opportunity for you to explore the camp. Find a young man named Alistair. He is one of our newest fledgling Wardens, and will make a fine guide for the first leg of your induction.”

“You’re not coming with me?” Talia asked.

“I’m afraid I have business elsewhere,” Duncan lamented, “but if you have need of any assistance, allow me to give you my number. Come find me by the large bonfire near the kennels when you’re finished, but if necessary in the meantime, I am only a message away.”

And before Talia could urk out the words “wait, kennels?” he was already striding briskly away. (Damn humans with their legs.)

Making her way through the camp, Talia found it difficult to focus on any one sight. To the right, various officers studying several large screens. To the left, a soldier standing guard over some makeshift holding cells. Up ahead, a fenced-in area held some remarkably well-behaved dogs. She’d never seen dogs in person, but a lifetime of experiencing the world outside of Orzammar entirely through the internet had her wondering what use an army would have for cute lil’ heckin’ puppers.

Asking those she encountered about the whereabouts of this “Alistair” proved largely fruitless, though one kindly old mage woman pointed Talia toward a secluded area. She was used to mages. In Orzammar’s Dust Town, it wasn’t all that uncommon to occasionally see humans, elves, and even qunari working as mercenaries for the various gangs. It made sense, really. Since dwarves were unable to perform magic, they had to find that edge anywhere they could. The casteless dwarves of the slums may shank you for a bronze bit, but you can rest assured it has nothing to do with your race.

Following the nice mage’s directions, Talia found the location, and with it, a solitary human male having an animated conversation on his phone. He was a young man, about Talia’s age, wearing body armor that wasn’t fully fastened over an untucked camouflage shirt. A lot of care and attention seemed to have gone into his hair, though.

“I was simply told to pass the message on to you, which I’ve now done, so... “ he paused, having likely been interrupted, “right, yes, clearly I’m inconveniencing you by giving you information.”

He turned around and met Talia’s inquisitive gaze. He shot back his own identical eyebrow arch and continued his conversation.

“You’re hanging up already? That’s quite the shame,” his voice adopted a masterfully fake quality of dejection, “and here I was ready to name my charming pet spider after you. ...Hello?”

“Don’t think he got that last part,” Talia spoke up.

“It’s too bad,” the man said in stride, “I’d been holding on to that one.”

“Rough call?”

“The kind that makes me thankful we have this blight to bring us all together,” he said with mocking fondness.

“Yes,” Talia responded with a dry smirk, “I’ve been told the darkspawn engineered it as a team building exercise.”

“Well now I know you’re new,” he said, “you’re clearly not misanthropic enough yet.”

“Alistair, I presume?” Talia cut to the chase.

“And here I thought dwarves couldn’t be mages,” he quipped, “but yes, that’s what people shout at me. I’m assuming Duncan sent you?”

“That’s right,” she answered, “told me you’d be able to help with whatever the hell it is I need to do.”

“Well that would either make you Talia Brosca, the new recruit,” Alistair said, with a bit more pep in his voice than during his earlier conversation. “or a lyrium smuggler, which would be the Revered Mother’s latest joke on me.”

“Depends on if you’re buying,” Talia joked, “but that’s my name.”

“Right then,” Alistair said with a clap, “I’ve only just joined the Grey Wardens officially myself, but I remember the process well enough.”

Talia thought she could see the color drain from Alistair’s face slightly, but assumed she must have imagined it as he continued without so much as a pause.

“Up first, we should gather your fellow initiates,” he said, “that should take care of introductions as well. Follow me.”

Talia nodded and took up a stride beside Alistair, doing her best to keep up. (Why can’t humans just slow down a bit?)


	3. Character Exposition I Guess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still in Ostagar. Really just wanted an excuse to write some more banter.

“Come back to take the scenic route, then?”

A lecherous voice almost preceded its lecherous face as Talia and Alistair approached the first of their new comrades. Talia sighed with the force of a thousand pepper sprays.

“I take it you’ve met,” Alistair said, unconsciously inching away from Talia’s violent aura.

“In the same way a nose meets a cold, yes,” Talia answered, beckoning her eyes to roll back forward. She was familiar with this human to a slight yet still uncomfortable extent, as he had catcalled her during her previous excursion through the camp. Talia knew how to handle these sorts, though that was hardly a justification for their existence.

“Yeah,” she shot at the man, “I had to see your profound ugliness a second time to be sure it’s real.”

“They always come back for more,” he bragged to nobody in particular. (Her knowing how to handle his sort didn’t make him any less obnoxious, unfortunately.)

“Why are we stopping here anyway?” Talia asked Alistair with an exasperated breath.

“Well…” Alistair hesitated. Talia looked back and forth between him and the other man.

“Wait…” she said with an air of dreadful realization.

“Yep.”

“So he’s…”

“Mmm hmm.”

“I already don’t like you very much,” Talia quipped dryly.

“Duly noted,” Alistair answered, “recruit Talia of Orzammar, meet recruit Daveth of Denerim.”

“We’ve… met,” Talia managed to grunt out.

“No need to be like that,” Daveth said, “I’m sure we’ll become the fastest friends.”

“Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?” Alistair said, ignoring Talia’s look.

“Grew up outside the big city,” Daveth began, “spent some time as a thief, got in trouble, now I’m here. How about you, my lady?”

“Same, but smaller,” Talia answered.

“Right then, shall we find our final comrade? Or should we all just pretend we don’t know each other?” Alistair proposed, following an unfortunate silence.

After an over-enthusiastic and under-enthusiastic reply, they set off. Luckily, the prickly quiet didn’t have much time to ferment, as they found their final companion shortly after. A large human (and that makes 3. Talia suspected her legs would be extremely tired before the day was over), he appeared much less Daveth-y, which was a start.

“Ser Jory of Redcliffe,” Alistair broke the silence before anything could be ruined, “meet your fellow recruits, Daveth of Denerim and Talia of Orzammar.”

“You can just stick to my name from now on,” Talia said, “I was exiled. Plus it’ll save us a couple hours in the long run.”

“I quite like hearing my name like this,” offered Daveth, “makes me feel more like a proud medieval warrior and less like a Daveth.”

“Any thoughts, Jory, or are you more functional than these two?” Alistair snarked.

“I suppose you can call me what you will,” Ser Jory answered with a bit of nerves showing, “I’m more concerned with finishing this initiation and returning home as soon as I’m able.”

“Someone waiting for you?” Talia asked.

“My wife,” Jory answered, “we are expecting our first child.”

“Congratulations, ser knight!” said Daveth, “We should celebrate. Know any pubs ‘round here?”

“Do we not have a task to complete?” Jory asked Alistair, ignoring Daveth.

“Right you are,” Alistair answered, “I trust none of you have any objections to a stroll through the cold, soggy woods?”

“Is that question rhetorical?” Talia asked.

“No, it just has no bearing on whether or not we go,” Alistair tossed back, before adopting a more authoritative tone, “now then, recruits, fall in and keep up!”

Ser Jory immediately snapped to Alistair’s side while Talia and Daveth stood and stared like broken video game characters.

“C’mon,” Alistair pleaded, his shoulders drooping, “It’s my first time being in charge.”

More staring.

“I’ve got some crisps and a few juice boxes,” he said in a defeated tone.

“And let me just say it’ll be a true honor fighting alongside you, my lord,” Daveth said as he sprang forward. Talia followed, at the mercy of the stomach whose rumbling had finally caught her attention.

The group approached the edge of a camp, where a guard briefly mumbled into a radio before the gate opened for them. Alistair pulled out his phone and tapped for a few seconds as they crossed the threshold into the woods.

“Just letting Duncan know we’re heading in,” he said, feeling the recruits’ eyes on him, “I suggest you all keep your phones available. It’s easy to get lost in these parts.”

“Shouldn’t we… exchange numbers in that case?” Talia asked.

“You can if you’d like,” Alistair answered nonchalantly, “I’ve already got all of yours.”

The cold in the air seemed to grip slightly tighter during this pause.

“The Grey Wardens aren’t terribly big on privacy, are they?” Daveth said.

“Wait till you see the tents,” Alistair said back with a chuckle.

His small laugh seemed to echo louder than it should have, which drew Talia’s attention back to her surroundings. They appeared to have entered the woods proper, and even as a resident of the stone city with no knowledge of the outside world until just a few days ago, she could tell there was something… different. Something dark.

“This is gonna suck,” she said, breaking the silence, “isn’t it?”

“Oh,” Alistair answered with a touch of amusement, “most definitely.”


	4. Soggy Bits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talia, along with Alistair and the other recruits, venture into the forest to fight stuff and find stuff.

The trek through the soggy woods was somehow even soggier than Talia expected. Mud and muck seeped into every seam in her clothing while everything else was conveniently soaked from the humidity. The eerie ambiance was occasionally interrupted by darkspawn roaming the area, but it was nothing the group couldn’t handle.

Talia had plenty of experience with darkspawn. Most dwarves did. Darkspawn lived underground, dwarves lived underground. Frankly if the dwarves weren’t such isolationists and the darkspawn weren’t such mindlessly evil beasts whose entire goal was death and destruction then there might have been something there. All Talia knew was that aside from bleeding toxic blood, darkspawn of any type could be taken down just like any sentient being, and luckily, her current crew were adept enough at that practice.

Daveth seemed to be a marksman of sorts, allowing his scoped rifle to do the talking in battle, giving Talia a precious respite from his regular talking. Jory preferred to get up close and personal with his fists, despite his nervous demeanor. This all suited Talia well enough, as her years surviving the Orzammar slums had all but required her to become proficient with her pistol and switchblade.

Alistair, meanwhile, preferred to keep to the back, only brandishing his machete when things looked dicey for the others. Though he would always make a point to check the fallen enemies the moment a battle was over.

“Why do you only swoop in at the end?” Talia asked after one such skirmish.

“First of all, I don’t swoop. I pounce,” Alistair answered while searching a darkspawn corpse, “and second, I already did this test, and I’ve been told my mother didn’t raise an overachiever.”

Talia opened her mouth to deliver what would clearly be a spectacular rebuttal, but no noise came out as her attention shifted to the scene coming into view behind the man. Alistair noted the change in her focus and followed her gaze.

“Ah,” he said, “looks like we’re here.”

The mist in the forest had begun to thin, slowly revealing a rather magnificent site. The remains of a skyscraper loomed before them. Well, it could hardly be called a skyscraper now; decades, or perhaps longer, of being exposed to the elements with no maintenance in sight had whittled this once magnificent feat of architecture into what was now essentially a giant metal tree stump.

“So here’s the deal,” Alistair said, beckoning the recruits to gather around him, “we’re looking for a lockbox. Should be inside the vault or nearby. Just look for the Grey Warden symbol on it.”

A silence fell over the group.

“The what?” asked Talia.

“You know,” Alistair said, as if talking about a beloved cereal mascot, “the logo.”

More silence.

“A griffin!” he said again, with disbelief, “Does… nobody know about the Wardens anymore?”

“I know about the Wardens but I’ve never heard of that other thing,” Daveth contributed.

“What, a griffin?” Alistair’s incredulity was rising, “you know, lion bird thing? Maybe horse parts in there somewhere? Not real?”

“Oh yeah, I heard of them,” Daveth said, “we just call them whatchamacallits back home.”

“I’ve still never heard of the beasts,” Jory said, “but the description is adequate enough to go by.”

“They’re… not real?” Talia felt close to tears.

Alistair flinched at this as Daveth and Jory went off into the ruins to search.

“Sorry, did I just ruin your day?” he asked, attempting a sympathetic tone that came out a bit more mockingly than he’d probably wanted.

“No, it’s fine,” Talia said, steadying her voice and steeling herself, “not like griffins were the only reason I said yes to joining the Wardens or anything.” She then jogged off toward the ruins before Alistair could say anything or possibly comprehend what had just happened.

The search itself didn’t take long. After Jory pushed aside the long rusted vault door, the lockbox in question was prominently in view among the piles of other metal thingies. What they hadn’t counted on, however, was the box being empty.

“Hold on,” Alistair said, his usual sarcastic tone now absent, “there were supposed to be papers in here.” He brought the box into the building’s foyer to see it in the light, but brightened emptiness is still just that. The man just stared at the box in silence, either from shock or trying to think too hard.

“I mean,” Talia broke the silence, “to be fair, you only told us to find the box.”

“Not helping,” said Alistair.

The silence reigned a bit longer as everyone tried to make sense of the situation. Luckily, they wouldn’t have to strain themselves for very long. A smooth, cool voice suddenly rang from above.

“Well well, what have we here?”

Talia turned, scanning the area for the source of the voice, when suddenly her eyes landed on a rather less than typical sight.

A woman, human apparently, was lazily strolling down the stairs toward them, covered in what could either be an elaborate shawl or a bath house’s laundry day. Or perhaps “sauntering” was more appropriate. Talia made a mental note to check a thesaurus when she got cell reception again.

“Are these vultures attempting to lay claim to this long forgotten and long barren relic of the past?” the woman continued, “Or perhaps they are mice, simply scrounging for whatever putrid morsel their tiny noses can discover?”

“Careful,” Alistair said quietly to the recruits, “I’d wager she’s much more dangerous than she looks.”

“And just what qualities do my appearance betray, I wonder?” the woman posed in response.

“She’s a wild witch!” Daveth interjected, “She’ll turn us all to toads, she will!”

“I’ve heard her kind kidnap children,” Jory added gravely.

“Might you continue to offer helpful suggestions, or will you answer the question I posed?” she asked with a smile.

“My money’s on apostate,” said Alistair, a slight tremble in his voice indicating he hadn’t expected her to hear him, “a mage outside the Circle with no regulations on your powers.”

“My, but you are an observant one,” she said with approval that could very well have been in jest.

“No, just paranoid,” Alistair answered, with a bit more backbone in his voice, “we’re searching for something that appears to no longer be here.”

“Indeed?” the woman said, “Might it have something to do with the documents which once resided in that box behind your back?”

“Wha-?” Alistair stuttered, dropping the box in the process.

“That appears to have answered my question,” she continued, then swiveled her eyes towards Talia, who froze in her spot, “and you? Your eyes have been locating every exit, cover, and opportunity you can find since I arrived. Your practicality suits you well.”

“Thanks,” Talia said, not breaking eye contact, “it’s my mom’s doing.”

“A wise woman,” she said.

“Not really,” Talia answered with a shrug, “it’s how I stayed away from her.”

The woman’s smile almost seemed to become wilder.

“Your honesty does you credit, child of the stone,” her tone seemed to have softened a bit, though her amusement appeared intact, “now, might I know your name? A cold forest does not discount the importance of proper manners, after all.”

“You first,” Talia said.

The woman’s grin widened ever so slightly.

“I am Morrigan,” she said, “you may call me a witch or an apostate, or any other descriptors you deem appropriate.”

“My name is Talia, a pleasure.”

“Such attention to etiquette,” Morrigan said with exaggerated approval, “‘tis a refreshing change to see such things are not entirely lost among the masses.”

“Yes, well I’m glad we can all be civil while we continue to lose feeling in our bits,” Alistair butted in, “but there’s still the matter of the documents which you already admitted you know about.”

“Of course I know about them, for t’was I who kept them safe once the vault’s integrity became compromised.”

“You- oh. Really?” Alistair’s sudden tone change felt like whiplash to Talia.

“My mother and I understand the importance of those documents not just to the Grey Wardens,” Morrigan’s own tone shifted to a more serious one, “but to Fereldan itself. Now if you will allow it, I shall escort you to my home where your quarry awaits.”

A quick wordless glance danced between the group before they all nodded, if a bit apprehensively, and not before drawing their weapons.

“Something tells me she doesn’t care what we will and won’t ‘allow’.” said Jory as the group fell into step behind the witch.

“Finally,” Morrigan said without turning around, “a correct assumption.”


	5. Trash Lady

To the group’s overwhelming relief, very little of note happened as they moseyed along to Morrigan’s place. Daveth quietly expressed doubt as to her magical abilities, coincidentally followed by his shoes spontaneously combusting, but little else occurred.

They soon arrived at a quaint little shack, surrounded by strung up lights, a few generators, and a decorative assortment of bug zappers. As they approached, several security cameras creaked as they swiveled towards the group.

Morrigan walked up to one of them and gave it the finger. The front door opened.

“You’ve a talent for making an entrance, girl,” came a weathered yet sharp voice from inside.

“Merely testing to be sure my password still works, mother,” Morrigan answered with an air of frustration.

At this, an old woman stepped out of the dwelling. Or rather, Talia thought, a slim pile of refuse topped by an old woman’s head lazily undulated into the open. Aside from the eclectic rags that adorned most of her being, she sported a pair of glasses atop her nose, a pair of goggles seemingly fused to her forehead, and binoculars dangling from her neck. Like dogs who resemble their masters, her appearance easily matched that of her home.

“I see your charm does not diminish even in the presence of guests,” the old woman said, nodding towards Talia’s group.

“Perhaps it would, were these Wardens proper guests,” Morrigan answered, “but alas, they shall remain temporary visitors until their business is concluded.”

“Um, yes,” Alistair attempted to take charge of the situation, “we… humbly request that you… return the Grey Warden treaties recovered from the ruins… post, um, post… now-ish.”

“Such a way with communication,” the old woman said, amused, “I have that which you seek, however I’d imagine most negotiations of this sort would warrant fewer fatal plunges over your words.”

Talia caught Alistair’s eye, her eyebrow soaring to new heights. Alistair arched his own brows in response, conveying the unmistakable message of “what?” Talia took this as tacit approval and spoke.

“Please, we’re very cold and damp in unfortunate places,” she said in tired desperation, “if you can give us what we need, we’ll leave right away.”

The old woman swiveled her head towards Talia, a feat which appeared to be hindered by several layers of gear and grime.

“You don’t appear afraid, young lady,” she said, “does the prospect of unbridled witches in the wild not terrorize your mind even the slightest?”

“It does,” Talia answered, “but I’m very tired and my mind apparently hasn’t seen fit to process both of those emotions yet, so I guess the clock’s ticking.”

At this, the old woman spewed a raspy, growly laugh. Morrigan rolled her eyes.

“Then take your documents,” the crone said, “my name is Flemeth, and I sincerely hope they assist you in the way your superiors intend.”

“Wait, I’m sorry, THE Flemeth?” Alistair butted back in, suddenly coherent, “from the stories?”

“Some stories, perhaps,” Flemeth said, “but if I were you, I’d steer clear of believing centuries-old books in favor of trusting your own eyes.”

With that, she snapped her fingers and several stained filing folders appeared in her hands. At the same time, the phones of Alistair, Talia, and the rest dinged.

“Go now,” she said, handing over the documents, “and tell your Grey Wardens that this threat goes well beyond one simple battle in the ruins.”

Alistair took the documents and secured them inside his pouch. They gave a shaky farewell and began making their way back through the wilds, guided by Morrigan.

“Thanks for the help,” Talia said to her as they approached Ostagar.

“Think little of it,” Morrigan answered, “T’was Mother’s wish that I escort you, and I suppose she is entitled to one every few decades.”

“Hang on,” Alistair blurted out as Morrigan turned to leave, “before you go, why does your mother seem to think this battle is going to be bigger than we expect?”

“I know little of Ferelden’s own ebbs and flows like she does,” Morrigan casually answered, “however I would suggest you consider why your Grey Warden masters needed those particular documents so badly.”

With that, she disappeared back into the forest without another word. Talia and company were similarly wordless as they trudged back to the camp, their fatigue now freely expressing itself without the padding of adrenaline. Alistair tiredly tapped out a message on his phone, likely to report their success to Duncan.

“Right,” Alistair said as they passed back through the gate to the camp, “get some rest and I’ll contact you all later when it’s time to meet.”

“What are we meeting for?” Talia asked as Jory sauntered away and Daveth did the same while leering.

Alistair gave a sigh and swallowed. There was that color drain from his face again.

“It’s just about time for your initiation into the Wardens.”


	6. The Joining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Less funny more drama.

Talia’s precious sleep was interrupted by a text notification. As she less than silently cursed the premature end of her rest, she rolled over in her snug bedroll to check the message. Unsurprisingly, it was from Alistair.

“10 minutes. The ruins on the hill.”

Talia debated sending a snide reply but decided against it when she couldn’t think of one. So she sent a quick “got it” and suited up.

The camp seemed quieter now. The serenity of her short sunset stroll to the meeting spot allowed her mind to wander, which she hated. For the first time since arriving at Ostagar, Talia’s mind began to process the events that had brought her there.

Why was she chosen for this? She wasn’t exactly homesick for the grody slums of Orzammar, but there must have been tons of others Duncan could have recruited. But she was the only one. A decent thief whose only failing was trusting in someone besides herself.

She wasn’t about to make that same mistake again. She planned to make many mistakes in the near future, but that wasn’t one of them. If these Grey Wardens could provide a better life for her, fine. She could accept their help with one hand while keeping the other fully armed.

Arriving at the ruins, Talia found the rest already there. A rather somber, reverent vibe permeated the scene, discouraging her from quipping about being “fashionably late.” She wouldn’t have had time to do so anyway, as Duncan began speaking.

“Now that we’ve all gathered,” he said, somehow seeming more serious than usual, “it’s time to reveal the true nature of the Grey Wardens to our new charges.”

Talia pondered. Now that she thought about it, Duncan and Alistair had been kind of evasive when discussing the Wardens. What sort of “true nature” would warrant such evasiveness, she wondered. Were they werewolves? Vampires? Politicians?

“Grey Wardens are warriors, this is true,” Duncan continued, “but what makes us Wardens is not our battle prowess, but rather our ability to sense and resist the corruption of darkspawn. We Wardens pay a terrible price to become what we are, and the time has now come for you three to pay that price as well.”

Alistair held up three vials full of dark liquid. Duncan raised one of his own.

“You must drink the blood of the darkspawn,” Duncan said gravely, “this is what makes a Grey Warden, and not all will survive.” Suddenly Talia thought back to Alistair searching the bodies of every darkspawn they killed in the wilds. She shuddered, in body and mind.

Duncan and Alistair moved towards a pedestal, which held an ornate chalice. Alistair poured one of the vials into the cup, while Duncan allowed a single drop to fall from his. Duncan took the chalice in his hands while Alistair said some sort of prayer that Talia could barely hear as her groggy mind struggled to comprehend what they’d just been told.

“Daveth,” Duncan said in an official sounding tone, “step forward.”

The chatty lech’s bottomless well of misplaced confidence continued to spew its riches as he took the chalice from Duncan. “Ain’t been no drink that’s gotten the better of me yet,” Daveth boasted, “see you on the other side, love,” he added to Talia with a wink.

Swigging it down in one gulp, Daveth lowered the chalice from his mouth with that same cocky look, which was quickly replaced with a face of contorted agony and terror. He dropped to his knees, clutching at his throat as if trying to tear something out of it. His breathing turned to screaming, which then turned to raspy gurgling, and then complete silence. Daveth lay motionless on the ground, his mouth agape in a twisted, empty scream. He was dead.

Talia couldn’t speak. In fact she couldn’t hear anything either. Had she gone deaf? Or was everyone just as shocked as she was? Surely this was a fluke, right? There’s no way such a highly regarded order like the Wardens would kill off its recruits like some religious cult. How long has everyone been silent? They must have been standing there saying nothing for hours. Or maybe minutes? Seconds? However long it was, she could hear Duncan speaking again once she eased out of her reverie.

“Ser Jory,” he said, his voice betraying no indication that he had just watched a man die, “step forward.”

Jory put up his fists in a panic.

“Now-now hold on,” he stuttered, “you cannot force this upon me. I have a wife. I have a child on the way!” Jory began winding up to take a swing at Duncan.

“This is the only way forward,” Duncan said heavily, removing one hand from the chalice, “the Right of Conscription is binding.”

“You ask too much,” Jory screamed, “I will not be a victim of your twisted ritual!”

Jory’s fist shot out at Duncan, who dodged with little effort. He presumably would have swung again if given the chance. But as Talia blinked, the scene switched from a dodge to a stab. Duncan’s dagger now sat deep in Jory’s chest, as the former knight of Redcliffe fell without a sound.

“I am sorry, my child,” Duncan said, with a tone almost sounding rehearsed. Talia’s mind could barely process the scene before her. Was this a human thing? Should she fight back? It didn’t seem to help the other guy. But what choice did she have?

“Talia of Orzammar, step forward.”

Her hand stealthily made an instinctive move for her switchblade. But she was no fighter like Ser Jory. She knew she couldn’t take them both, and even if she did, what then? Fighting through an entire army to get out of the camp and go… where? There was nothing left for her in Orzammar. There was nothing for her anywhere. Her only chance of a future was right here. Right in this chalice.

Talia stepped forward, reaching up to take the chalice from Duncan. After one last reflexive scan of her surroundings for a nonexistent escape route, she exhaled and swallowed the horrid mixture.

It was like nothing she had ever experienced, and like nothing she would ever feel again. She would later describe the feeling as “dread, fear, just… wrongness, all throughout my body, like discovering a new sense that senses nothing but shit.”

But as quickly as it began, it was over, and she found herself looking up through blurry eyes at Duncan and Alistair.

“Welcome, my friend,” said Duncan, “to the Grey Wardens.”


End file.
